


Red Stained Cloth

by lacedwithlilacs



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Bloodplay, M/M, Murder, Oral Sex, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-28
Updated: 2013-05-28
Packaged: 2017-12-13 05:55:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/820789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacedwithlilacs/pseuds/lacedwithlilacs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While walking through the cemetery one night on his way home from the Musain, Jehan comes across a robbery gone wrong. Montparnasse emerges covered in his victim's blood and in need of Jehan's help. Montparnasse repays Jehan in the only way a rich boy would want.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red Stained Cloth

**Author's Note:**

> Descriptions of blood and violence; please keep that in mind if either of those make you squeamish. Montparnasse kills someone in this, though their death is not explicitly described; please also keep that in mind.
> 
> ps; i always tag what takes place in the fic in the additional tags. please check those in case you don't like something in particular!

The wind whistles above Jehan's head and presses cold, bitter air against his back, easily tearing through the thin shirt Jehan wears. He hunches over slightly, bringing his hands to his elbows and hugging himself to try and stay warm as the crisp air bites at his back. Eventually the gust of wind passes and Jehan straightens his back again, smoothing down the top of his hair and walks a bit quicker. He should have brought a jacket, a scarf, something to keep himself warm, but he'd left his apartment in the early evening when the sun had still been out and had warmed the cobblestone streets.

It was nearing midnight when he left the Musain, now probably closer to 12:30 or even 1 since he'd walked particularly slowly tonight through the streets. He had listened to the sound of sleeping Paris, the occasional sound of men in taverns and the sound of women speaking soft words to children who'd woken up in the middle of the night from a bad dream. There was something comforting about the soft, subtle movement of people around him even when the city itself seemed to be silent. Even though he too was supposed to be sleeping at a time like this, he instead walked through the usually crowded streets and reveled at the difference when they were empty.

Beneath his feet the leaves crunch, having just started falling from their spots on the trees. They're still crisp from the strong winds breaking them off of the branches and the sound is loud and sharp under his shoes. Jehan's long memorized the pathway through this cemetery to his apartment, having walked it at least a hundred times. It was a shortcut and the place calmed him. There was something romantic, beautiful about the way that the cemetery looked. Rarely was there anyone else besides himself, sometimes a passerby who would stop to say a quick prayer before continuing on their way.

Perhaps Jehan was a bit odd for loving a cemetery, since the place gave others an odd aura. They believed that ghosts would rise from the graves of the people who lay here or that walking past it at night would give them bad luck. Jehan loved these dead people though, despite not having known them personally. These people here had lived lives full of love and hope, long and beautiful. Or perhaps they had lived dangerous lives, cut short when something went wrong, a stab wound to the chest or a lead bullet to the skull. And then there were the children who had little chance to live, struck down by illness or accident. Everything about the way that these people had died fascinated Jehan, walking past graves and forming stories of these people's lives, playing out their existence inside of his head.

Jehan continues on through the cemetery, the moon shining steadily down on him and lighting the stone path that winds through the cemetery, taking turns without even thinking about it anymore, solely reflex. He comes to the mausoleums, where the rich families lay, with locks on the door to keep grave robbers out. One of them was Jehan's family's and he always thought that theirs was particularly bright in the white moonlight. There his grandfather and grandmother lay to rest, along with other family members that Jehan only heard select stories about, having all died long ago and taking the rest of their stories with them.

It isn't scary to Jehan and never does he feel the familiar clenching of his stomach when the wind whistles particularly loudly above him. By now, the cemetery is simply another spot on his walk home. It isn't until he hears something, a sort of rustle that doesn't normally come from the wind that he feels himself add a little bit extra bounce to his step. He reassures himself that it's nothing, when he hears a grunt and he is suddenly very aware that he is not alone. There's a loud thud and another groan, a defeated sounding one, and Jehan notes that the sound seems to be growing louder.

He keeps himself walking though, certain that there's nothing wrong when he hears the sound of a man, grunting and the steady sound of flesh on flesh. At first the sound is hard before it softens and Jehan slows himself. This is a crime he determines to himself and tries to think about how he has probably too many francs in his wallet right now to be trying his luck. He takes a step backwards, to take another route through the cemetery when his heel crunches on a leaf and the pounding on the body stops immediately.

A dark figure emerges from behind the Prouvaire family mausoleum and Jehan's entire body freezes, "Who goes there!?" the voice demands, having fully caught the sight of Jehan by now. All of the blood inside of Jehan's body goes cold and he turns to run when the figure steps closer, hesitantly and in the least threatening way, "Prouvaire?"

Jehan's heart finally begins beating again and the colour returns to Jehan's face as his organs begin to start working again. "Montparnasse?" Jehan calls out and Montparnasse takes another step forward, into the light of the moon now and Jehan can make out the blood splattered across the criminal's face. "What are you doing here?" Jehan asks as he begins towards Montparnasse, his stomach rolling around violently in his stomach, still very on edge despite the somewhat friendly face.

Montparnasse moves back, closing the gap between the side of the Prouvaire mausoleum and Jehan, "Business," Montparnasse says firmly and Jehan stops in his tracks, knowing exactly what that means. For a moment, he stands there before pushing Montparnasse to the side, determined to survey the damage for himself.

The man's face is unrecognizable from the severe gashes on his face and the punches to the face. Only then does Prouvaire notice the blood dripping from Montparnasse's hand and he can only assume that there is no cut on the criminal's hand. Jehan swallows hard, not exactly sickened by the sight but not wanting to look at it any longer, turning to Montparnasse whose face is wild with adrenaline and an emotion that Jehan alone knows too well. "Are you planning on joining me tonight?" He has long learned to stop trying to understand Montparnasse's desires.

"I have to bury the body first. I might come later."

"I plan on sleeping when I arrive home."

"Then I will fuck you here."

A moment of silence, Jehan sucks his bottom lip in between his teeth and takes in a deep breath through his nose.

"Bury the body first. Then we can talk."

Jehan helps Montparnasse, possibly more than he thinks he ought to. His hands are now covered in the man's blood as well, essentially making himself guilty as well should anyone else find out. They bury the body and Montparnasse pulls a large amount of francs out of his inner breast pocket, the man's money, "I suppose I ought to repay you for your help, though I doubt money is what you want." Montparnasse says as he tucks the francs away again and presses Jehan up against the marble of the Prouvaire mausoleum, gleaming white in the moonlight. He brings his hand up, still coated in the man's drying blood and swipes the pad of his thumb against Jehan's cheek, coating the soft skin in red. He does the same with the other and then brings the rest of his fingers up and leaves Jehan's cheeks red with a stranger's blood.

Jehan aches to kiss Montparnasse, the desire to surge forward and press his lips against those beautiful cherry lips almost overwhelms him. For a moment, he's about to do it, before he reels himself in and forces his head back against the marble exterior wall of the mausoleum. The stone is cold against his scalp as Montparnasse slides down onto his knees. There will be dirt on Montparnasse's knees when he stands again, possibly even mud from the frost on the grass that's beginning to form.

Montparnasse runs his palm flat against Jehan's crotch, feeling the thick cock through the fabric and rubs torturously against him. The criminal undoes Jehan's trousers and pulls his dick out of his pants, giving Jehan a few quick strokes first. Jehan forces his head forward, looking down at Montparnasse with his thick lips, the wet, pink tongue darting across them and wetting them before he begins peppering kisses along the shaft.

The air is cold against Jehan's cock, but Montparnasse's mouth is warm and he feels himself growing harder despite the temperature. Jehan throws his head back again when Montparnasse takes the head into his mouth, the stone even colder now than it had been moments ago. Montparnasse teases him, sucking gently on the head before sliding down further and leaving his hand wrapped tight around the base, twisting in perfect rhythm. It takes all of Jehan's personal restraint to keep his hands pressed back flat against the wall of the mausoleum, rather than burying them in Montparnasse's dark curls.

Eventually, Montparnasse falls into a steady consistent rhythm, sucking and twisting in harmony and Jehan almost feels his knees buckle when Montparnasse brings his hand up and holds Jehan's hips in place. Jehan finds himself arching his back from the wall, a mixture of the cold stone and the way that Montparnasse sucks him off, with a sort of skill that Jehan knows comes from lots of practice.

He tries to remember when the last time he had his dick sucked, reaches as far back as January of this year but he can't remember a time when he was pressed up against the wall rather than kneeling on the floor. He finds himself gasping, crying out when Montparnasse pulls back and leaves Jehan hard against the cool air of the night, the chill a shock to him. In one swift movement, Montparnasse manages to turn Jehan over, pressing Jehan's cheek against the mausoleum and smearing the dead man's blood on the side of the marble.

As soon as Jehan's cheek is pressed against the white marble, Montparnasse pulls Jehan's pants down and bunches them just under his knees. Without missing a beat, Montparnasse presses his hands against Jehan's cheeks and spreads them. For a moment, Jehan wonders if Montparnasse's fingers are still covered in blood when he feels the now familiar tongue licking needily at his entrance. Immediately, Jehan presses his palms against the mausoleum and digs his fingernails as best he can into the stone, whining at the lack of ability to grip anything and hold himself together.

Montparnasse only gives the poet a moment of preparation before his tongue enters Jehan, pushing past the ring of tight muscles and begins working Jehan open. The warmth of Montparnasse's mouth is welcomed and Jehan finds himself easily arching at the feeling of Montparnasse's tongue.

The movement of Montparnasse's tongue is sharp and short, diving in and out and fucking Jehan quick and rough like Montparnasse knows he likes. Jehan arches himself back, trying to get more contact when Montparnasse pulls away, leaving Jehan's entrance warm with saliva and the chilly air nipping at his exposed muscles. As quickly as before, Montparnasse brings his fingers up and enters two of them into Jehan. His mouth had only been preparation, slicking Jehan up for his fingers and then his cock.

Jehan shudders as the fingers enter him fully, all the way to the base of the fingers. The saliva makes them move swiftly and smoothly. The fingers at first are overwhelming, so much longer and thicker than Montparnasse's tongue, but Jehan soon begins to moan at the feeling of Montparnasse's fingers working him open. Montparnasse stretches him and Jehan begins pressing his hips back against Montparnasse's fingers, begging silently for more.

Instead though, Montparnasse works his fingers faster, harder as though this is all that Jehan will get for the night. Jehan brings his left index finger to his mouth, biting down to try to keep himself quiet as Montparnasse roughly fucks him with thick fingers. He rocks himself back and forth in time with Montparnasse's fingers, until he feels as though he's beginning to lose himself.

Jehan lets out a low whine when Montparnasse extracts his fingers from Jehan. The little time that it takes for Montparnasse to stand and reposition himself against Jehan's entrance feel like an eternity to Jehan, who is all too eager by the time that Jehan feels the head of Montparnasse's cock against his muscles. Montparnasse places his hands on Jehan's bare hips, digging harshly into the skin and forming pre-bruises already. Montparnasse enters him, nearly tearing Jehan apart into two with desire.

As usual, Montparnasse doesn't give Jehan much time to adjust to the feeling before he begins moving again, starting up quick and rough thrusts. Everything about the way that Montparnasse fucks him hurts so wonderfully. Montparnasse is fast and sharp, burying himself completely with every thrust and making Jehan grip at the marble wall again, only to come up without anything between his fingers. Instead, Jehan digs his nails into his palm and tries not to completely fall apart already.

As Montparnasse keeps fucking Jehan, he releases Jehan's right hip and brings his hand to cover Jehan's, clenched in a fist against the wall. For a moment, Jehan wants to turn his hand around and intertwine their fingers, grasp onto Montparnasse's palm and try to let him know how well Montparnasse fucked him. He knows better than to attempt such a thing though, letting Montparnasse release the small fist and return its position to Jehan's hip.

The movement becomes more rapid, less calculated and sloppier as Jehan feels Montparnasse coming to his orgasm. Again, Montparnasse lets go of Jehan's right hip and snakes the strong hand around to Jehan's cock, still slick with Montparnasse's saliva. He smears the precome into the saliva and roughly fists Jehan in a rhythm that almost matches his thrusts. Jehan quickly feels himself coming to orgasm, digging his fingernails in deeper into his palm and swearing that he feels the slight sting of blood splashing under his nails.

Jehan bites down on his finger when he comes, his vision going white and he tastes the copper of blood from his finger on his tongue. He feels Montparnasse come inside of him, thrusting twice more after Jehan's orgasm before thrusting completely inside of Jehan and spilling himself. They stay like that for a moment, Jehan gasping and panting with beads of sweat on his forehead and Montparnasse buried fully inside of him.

Montparnasse pulls out and releases Jehan's soften cock. He stands up straight, pulling away from Jehan and adjusts himself, tucking himself back into his pants and grunting out once as he redoes the buttons on his pants. Jehan turns around, his knees weak from the thorough fucking and does the same, only slower as he tries his best to clean himself off with his spare handkerchief that he always tucks into the inner breast pocket of his jacket.

They look at each other once before Jehan averts his gaze again, Montparnasse taking a step closer. Leaves crunch beneath his shoe as he steps forward and takes his own handkerchief out. He rubs at Jehan's cheeks and Jehan honestly had forgotten that he'd had a dead stranger's blood smeared on them. When Montparnasse pulls the small piece of cloth away, it's covered in partially dried blood.

Jehan takes the red stained cloth from Montparnasse and looks up at him again. "I will take this and have it cleaned for you," he says firmly and he hopes that even Montparnasse knows better than to argue with him on this matter. "You can pick it up tomorrow night at the earliest." Montparnasse nods once and leaves without another word.

Jehan turns around to look at the wall where he'd been fucked, frowning at the way the red of the dead man's blood looked on the marble. He presses his lips tight together and shakes his head, knowing that he will have to come in the morning and clean the Prouvaire mausoleum's wall of the dead man's blood and his own come.


End file.
